clark kent never took his glasses off around you. he couldn't.
because what would you think of him after finding out he's been hiding his true nature from you this entire time? you have been dating for months! you'd see him as a monster, a devil!
and, to be fair, you've never even bothered to ask him to remove his glasses—he's a dork with bad vision? cute. the glasses fit him anyway, why complain?
and you like them even more when they fog up as he eats you out, your eyelids spasming when his tongue slides out of your sticky hole and glide towards your sensitive clit, glasses crooking with the sudden buck of your hips.
you attempt to reach down and take them off for him, but his hand that was previously gripping your thigh grabs your wrist before his fingers snake their way up your hand and interwine with yours. you don't even have the time to comment on that action because he's already pressing his shoulder into the back of your thigh, folding you and digging into your cunt.
the day everything changed, however, was when you wanted to spice things up a bit, and go for doggystyle.
and, gosh, did clark love your ass. the rippling, the bouncing, the shape– everything was effing perfect.
"f-f... gah- baby, s'good.. so damn good.." he gasps, his palm pressing into your back to aid its arch. you have never felt him fuck you like this—sloppy, quick, unforgiving. he was finally letting loose, finally succumbing.
his head was spinning, he felt like everything around him had melted away apart from your ass. smack, smack, smack, smack—the only sound that echoed in his oversensitive ears, overcoming the music of your moans.
"c-clark— hm, so- g-good—!" you could barely even speak, the sloppy sloshing of his dick going back and fourth inside you taking part of the overstimulation the entire situation was giving you. his whimpers, his dick, the position... fuck, could it ever get better than this?
you would soon find out that, in fact, it could, when clark leaned over suddenly with a loud hiss, holding himself back from cumming too soon. you felt his glasses fall from his face and hit your back, before rolling off of you and onto the bed with a thud.
his pace faltered, and you figured it was because your poor clark kent couldn't see you anymore. so you, in all of your kindness, reached to grab his glasses, turned around to give them to him...
and came.
with a small, "s-superman?" slipping out of between your lips, your orgasm hit you like never before.
your walls came slamming down onto his cock, eyes rolling back into your skull as if reaching for salvation, silently begging for mercy as your own pleasure attacked you.
you shook while gripping the sheets, gasping for air before a loud "oh, fuck!" echoed throughout the room, your lungs clenching desperately.
meanwhile, clark could not believe his eyes.
you were cumming like you've never came before, all because you saw him without his glasses.
all because you saw him.
him.
kal-el.
how could he not have come too?
his orgasm was just as, if not more, powerful than yours. buckets of cum spilling into you with his entire body locking on top of you, his voice hoarse when he screams your name.
he gripped your hips, glasses long forgotten, and started thrusting into you again, craving more.
when you both came down from your highs, heavy pants could be heard from outside the room. neither of you could believe what had just happened.
"y-you're... you're super..man!?" you labored through your breath to express your shock, looking back at him to really confirm that what you saw was real. "you're superman!"
his right hand came to scratch his head, a cute smile plastered on his face. "surprise..?"
"how haven't I noticed before!?"
"can we have this conversation when I'm not... inside you... in this position..? you're clenching.."
you smirked mischievously, arching your back and wiggling your hips. "well, now that I know... wanna fuck me as superman for the first time?"
"language, sweets..." but his hand was already smoothing its way up your back, and onto your neck.
Situation where Clark has formed a tentative working relationship with Batman, but somewhere in that time, Batman acquired Robin and, naturally, didn't tell him.
Clark finds out about Robin's existence when a ten year old Dick Grayson in full Robin gear breaks into his apartment at two in the morning and shakes him awake because Batman's missing and Alfred's away and Bruce taught him that, in the case of emergency, Superman was one of the only people he could trust. Bruce just didn't think to tell Clark that he was, by all means, his son's emergency contact.
Clark: -wakes up to a small boy that he's never seen or heard of before in a cape and a mask with lenses that reflect light like a cat's perched on the edge of his bed in a pitch black room-
Dick, calmly: Hey, Batman's -- stop screaming -- Batman's missing. I need help.
he lets you win arm wrestling matches all the time. he fakes strain so convincingly you actually think you’ve got him—until one day, mid-match, you catch the tiniest smirk twitch at his lips.
“wait a damn minute—”
“what?” he laughs, acting innocent.
you slap his shoulder. “you’re faking?”
“wouldn’t dream of it,” he teases, letting you pin his hand again. “you’re just… strong.”
you’re always checking on him after missions, especially after he saves a city, lands a plane, or tanks an explosion. you’ll cup his face and search his eyes, even when there’s no scratch on him.
“i’m okay,” he’ll whisper every time. “you don’t have to worry.”
“i do worry, clark. you live a dangerous life.”
and he’ll just smile softly, brushing a hand over your cheek. “i’ll always make it back home to you.”
he thinks about proposing constantly. every time you fall asleep on his chest, every time you wake him up with a kiss, every time you run your hands through his curls and call him “baby” like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
but he’s scared—terrified—that bringing you deeper into his life could put you in danger.
he keeps little mementos of you everywhere—a photo of you at the planet, in his wallet, a pair of your earrings in the glove compartment of his truck, your favorite lotion tucked into his overnight bag. and he always smells like you after a night together—warm, soft, familiar.
and in the bedroom, he holds back—until you tell him not to.
there’s a night where you’re straddling him, mouth at his neck, and you say, “you don’t have to be gentle with me, you know.”
and something in him snaps—in the best way.
his hands clamp tight on your thighs, his voice gets low, and he flips you under him so fast the headboard groans.
“say that again,” he breathes, eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them.
Random thoughts. idk i'm bored. the ending might be cringeeeee. someone send me asks my inbox is so quiet...jk there's loads of requests...but still...?
Mentions of smut, mdni! <33
Clark Kent who was a stuttering mess trying to ask you out, too oblivious to see your heart eyes around him.
Clark Kent who took you on four dates before kissing you, and another three before asking to be your boyfriend. He later admits he’s wanted to kiss you since the day you dropped all your paperwork in front of him, your first day, 16 months ago.
Clark Kent who sleeps with you on the night of your two month anniversary. He wanted it to be romantic, and he wanted it to be fully your idea, no pressure!
Clark Kent who is soo vocal in bed. You feel so so so good and he’s been waiting so long he just has to tell you how good he feels.
Clark Kent who wholeheartedly believes in aftercare, which honestly lasts longer than the sex. He runs baths, gets you a drink, a snack, changes the sheets, gets you some comfy pjs (his boxers and an old college shirt)
Clark Kent who starts getting very bold once you have sex, because once you’ve started, he can’t get enough.
Clark Kent who loves pinching your ass as you walk by, only to look completely innocent when you whip your head towards him.
Clark Kent who gets you flowers every Sunday without fail.
Clark Kent who loves picking you up whenever he can, over the shoulder, up against his chest, in his arms, he just loves holding you!
Clark Kent who never lets you plan a single date, ever! It’s either dinner at the restaurant you like, the museum, the movie theatre, a picnic, dinner at his place, a weekend away.
Clark Kent who tells you he’s Superman almost immediately because he can’t keep a secret from you. He’s riddled with guilt and loves you too much to lie to you.
Loves you?…Wait what!?
Oh yeah!
Clark Kent who tells you he loves you two nights after becoming your boyfriend. He just can’t keep it in! And bonus, he’s lucky you love him too.
Clark: *In a National Geographic voice* And here we have a ferocious lion in his natural habitat.
Bruce: *sitting at the bat computer* 🤨
Clark: *In a National Geographic voice* He spends his day protecting his cubs, and watching over his territory.
Bruce: *turns to look at Clark* 🤨
Clark: *In a National Geographic voice* Don’t get to close to quick, he is easily spooked and will disappear into the shadows for days.
Bruce: 😑
Clark: *In a National Geographic voice* But don’t let his scary exterior fool you. He may be a scary lion on the outside, but on the inside he’s just a little kitten.
Bruce: What are you doing?
Clark: Me and Damien just came back from the zoo 😁
Bruce: And you’re narrating me because..?
Clark: Because you’re just a kitten wanting to be loved and I shall be the one to protect your heart!
Bruce: …
Clark: ..and because we were planning to watch National Geographic and Dami wanted you to watch it with us ☺️
Bruce: …
Bruce: ok
Clark: *In a National Geographic voice* The mighty lion is on the move to spend time with his youngest cub and his lover
Starting to think a cooler headcanon for Clark’s upbringing might just be that the entire town of Smallville collectively decided to just go with it and accept that Martha and John's kid has superpowers, but we don't talk about it.
Someone's tractor gets stuck and nothing can get it out? "Be a dear and run down to the Kents, would you? Ask for Clark?"
"Why Clark, we need a machine--"
"Run along now."
Or if he kicks too hard and the football vanishes into the upper stratosphere, no it didn't, we all collectively saw it land over there *vague hand movements*
note: he's in his mid-thirties, and you're in your early twenties (or anything you want). can be read as an unofficial sequel to he's touch starved. just a little something for today since my next fic might take some time. kind of nervous posting this omg but i hope you guys enjoy!
tags: size difference, soft dom clark (non sexual), age gap, ditzy+scatterbrained f! reader, clark & reader are coworkers, no plot, just pure fluff
୨ৎ even before dating, clark acted like the best boyfriend — to you only. he would walk you home after work, walking the side of the road, and he wouldn't touch you, not yet, but his hand would hover on your back, gently guiding you without even having to touch you, even if he so desperately wanted to.
୨ৎ he would pack you lunches, after you told him how you always forgot to make food so you often went entire days without eating (your brain makes it difficult for you to remember things you don’t really care about), and then pester you (gently) until you finally stopped typing on your keyboard and started eating. “atta girl,” he would praise you.
୨ৎ when he becomes your boyfriend though? that’s when the restraints finally come off. a hand on your neck, on your elbow, or his favorite, on the small of your back. he’s always touching you, always reassuring you. when the world gets too noisy and you can’t leave, he would gently squeeze the back of your neck, allowing you to focus solely on his touch and presence.
୨ৎ he knows that sometimes you get too engrossed in whatever it is you’re reading and refuse to look up from your book until you’re finished, and he’s fine with that. even if you like to read while walking with him. you don’t need to have eyes when he’s around. he’ll be your eyes and your guide. he would gently stir you away to keep you from walking head into a light pole or from walking into traffic. he doesn’t even mind that you don’t even notice. that you don’t even realise the full extent of what he would do for you to keep you safe — and happy
୨ৎ before him, you only had bad boyfriends. guys who made fun of your hyperfixations, your passions, the way you talked and the way you weren’t very perceptive, and were slow to the uptake. it’s so difficult for you to trust people again, to truly be your authentic self, but around clark, since the first day you met him, you felt safe. for the first time in your life, you met someone who truly loved all of you without condition.
୨ৎ clark loves that you feel so safe around him. in fact, he encourages it. “let me see all of you, love. you don’t have to hide anything from me.”
୨ৎ his love language is acts of service, so guess what? you’re serviced from the moment you wake up to the moment you go to sleep. he is the one to wake you up every day, knowing how you like to hit the snooze button. he makes the both of you breakfast, and he lets you snooze a little on his lap while he reads his newspaper and drinks his coffee.
୨ৎ and don’t get me wrong, it’s not that clark doesn’t think you’re not capable of handling yourself. it’s not that at all. he knows you’re more than capable to do anything you put your mind into if you had to. he knows that your weird girl persona is just what people see on the surface and assume it’s all you are, but he knows better. he knows it’s a coping mechanism, and how you feel good. he knows you’re independent and strong and smart, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to make your life easier. as long as you would have him, he will have you.
୨ৎ on date nights, when your feet would hurt from walking all night with your cute (but painful) pink heels, he would drop to his knees in the street without a care in the world and take your feet out of your heels, before lifting you in his arms, and holding your heels in his other hand. you tell him you can handle it, and he says “i know you can, sweetheart. but that doesn’t mean you have to. not when i’m around.” so, blushing, you let him lift you like a princess in his arms. he doesn’t even let you hold the heels. he holds them himself.
୨ৎ you’re not stupid or naive, you just want to see the best in people, even when it doesn’t exist. in that regard, you’re just like him, and he loves you so much for it.
୨ৎ clark is a jealous boyfriend, but not because he doesn’t trust you, but because he doesn’t trust other men. it’s a protective kind of jealousy, born out of love and care, not insecurity and fear. he is secure and confident in your love for him.
୨ৎ clark kent is the ultimate masculine man. not because he’s strong or tall, but because he’s so confident in his masculinity that it hurts (in a good way). he always wears your pink and cute and hyper feminine purses or bags while you’re busy shopping, waiting until you’re finished. he doesn’t hide the purse or act like he’s disgusted, no. he puts it over his shoulder like it’s part of his outfit. he also never uses his phone around you. he was already chronically offline, but it’s worse around you. he never answers calls or even texts when you’re with him. even if you’re busy. and when you’re busy, he busies himself with watching you, his hands in his pockets.
୨ৎ he never lets you buy anything, even when he doesn’t even understand what you want, like when you had an obsession with labubus and you absolutely had to have the pink one, and clark doesn’t even understand what he’s looking at, but he can see how badly you want it, so he gets it for you, no questions asked. he gets upset when he learns that you used your own money on something he could have easily bought you.
୨ৎ clark is always respectful and polite, but he never smiles more than necessary to women. never touches them or talks to them if it’s not an absolute necessity. you tell him you don’t mind if he has girl friends, but he says, “you’re the only girl friend i need”.
୨ৎ conversely, he does let you have male friends. both because he trusts you and because he refuses to dictate what you do or what you can’t do. and he trusts you to always tell him if one of them spoke out of turn or did something they shouldn’t have.
୨ৎ clark would always read for you. he reads for you your favorite romcom books, and when you giggle at a passage, he would file that information in his mind for later.
୨ৎ he gets mad when people say you’re only with him for the money, or when people call you a sugar baby or a gold digger. you’re used to it, because people see the clothes and the hair and the rings and the older men at your side and instantly assume you’re some sort of sex worker. nothing wrong with sex workers, so you don’t really care, even if it does chip at your self-esteem a bit. will people only ever see you as a product package?
୨ৎ clark would listen intently while you talk to him about your latest obsession. one time he listened to you psychoanalyze holden caulfield from the catcher in the rye, in absolute awe of your intellect and hidden depth. another time, he listened to you talk about ducks and their soft feathers and how round and white and soft they are for hours, with just as much focus. he gets you a collector edition of the catcher in the rye and he takes you on a picnic date the next day by the lake, so you can see the ducks. he even brought duck-safe food for them. you’d never been happier.
୨ৎ clark never is surprised when you say something really smart. he knows. he always knew. he hates that people act like they never would have imagined you capable of being so intelligent, but at least he knows. he sees you. he gets you.
masterlist ᯓ★ part2? requests! ᯓ★ directory ᯓ★ come say hi
( synopsis ) — you and clark had just had one of the worst fights, leaving you to question whether there’s still room for your relationship, and clark to juggle the weight of being both superman and himself.
( warnings ) — arguing, not feeling good enough, crying clark, relationship problems blahhh
“Damn it,” he whispers, voice low and weary as he sits perched atop some random rooftop in Metropolis. His elbows rest on his knees, head cradled in his hands as he sighs deeply, shaking his head in frustration, at himself, at everything.
The two of you had just gone through one of the worst fights in the history of your relationship. It was intense, emotional, raw, and painful. Until finally, you walked into the bedroom and slammed the door, locking it behind you. You both needed space. Any longer and you might’ve said things you couldn’t take back.
You hadn’t yelled when you said it. You weren’t angry, you were tired. Worn down from weeks, maybe months, of feeling like an afterthought. Like you didn’t matter as much anymore.
Not in a dramatic, unreasonable way. You understood what it meant to be with Superman. You knew what it meant for the people of Metropolis to depend on him, and you were proud of him for it, your selfless, devoted Clark.
But something had changed. He’d been missing dinners. The spontaneous calls to check in had stopped. He’d show up in the dead of night, bruised and exhausted, long past when he said he’d be home, never with an explanation. And even when he was physically there, he wasn’t really present. He’d barely stay an hour before vanishing again.
He didn’t lean on you anymore. He stopped confiding in you, stopped turning to you for comfort. You didn’t need saving. You just wanted to be seen.
He always told you he was doing his best. That he was trying to protect the city and the love of his life. And you had looked at him, hollow, and said:
“I didn’t fall in love with Superman. I fell in love with Clark.”
The fight had spiraled. What started as a plea to get your Clark back somehow became a painful question.. Were you just a place he returned to between missions? A temporary stop, not a home?
And for Clark, that question hit deeper than you realized. Not just because you’d said it, but because a part of him feared it was true.
So when the tears welled in your eyes and you locked the door behind you, he didn’t stay. He didn’t change into the suit. He just flew out the window, bare faced and lost, not because duty called, but because he didn’t know what else to do.
You spent the rest of the night curled up in your room, crying to friends over the phone. You kept checking for a text, a call, some sign from him. But it never came. Not until nearly 10 PM.
The sun was long gone, replaced by a silver moon, when the sound of shattering glass jolted you from your thoughts. You rushed out of the bedroom to find him, Clark, sitting on the couch, tears in his eyes, as shards of your window glittered across the carpet like fallen stars.
“Clark, what the hell?” you exclaimed, gaze flicking from the broken glass to his face. But the anger faded as quickly as it came. Your expression softened when you saw the way his tears fell freely, unhidden.
“I could fly anywhere in the world,” he murmured, voice trembling. “Anywhere. But I still come home to you every night. I might be late… might be out of it… but I always come home to you. That has to mean something, right?”
You exhaled slowly, heart aching at his words. You stepped closer, reaching out with your sleeve to gently wipe the tears from his cheeks.
“It means you find your way back here,” you whispered. “But it doesn’t mean you stay, Clark.”
He inhaled sharply, then let out a heavy sigh, tilting his head up to look at you. His hand lifted hesitantly, resting on your hip as if waiting for permission. And when you leaned into his touch, he pulled you closer, quietly grateful to be allowed near again.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, barely above a whisper. “I’ve always been Superman. I’ve never really.. been someone’s person. Metropolis always needs me, they depend on me. I guess sometimes I forget you do too.”
Your frown was gentle as you cupped his face in both hands, leaning down to meet his eyes.
“You don’t have to be Superman here,” you said softly. “Not with me. But you do have to be present. You have to show up. Not just physically, Clark.”
He nodded slowly, eyes fixed on yours with a quiet determination beginning to bloom behind the sadness. “I know,” he said. “It’s just… sometimes I think if I stop holding the world up, even for a second, it’ll all collapse. Like I’m not strong enough. And then I come home, and I feel you slipping away too and it terrifies me.”
You leaned forward until your forehead touched his, your hands still cradling his face, grounding him.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered. “I just don’t want to be the last thing on your list. You understand that, don’t you?”
He nodded again, sniffling as your thumbs brushed the tears from his cheeks. He didn’t argue. Didn’t deflect. But in his eyes, you saw it. The love, the remorse, the longing. The desire to try. To stay.
